


To Her

by minerrvas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minerrvas/pseuds/minerrvas
Summary: On the day of Albus' death, Minerva goes to her quarters to find respite. It is brief, for she finds a letter which creates wounds she didn't know could exist.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbykxne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbykxne/gifts).



The light at the tip of her wand had long gone out. The Dark Mark was gone from the sky, it had been brightened, a glimmer of hope.

Of course, as the Deputy and soon-to-be official Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva had to give them all hope. Something to hold onto. Hope was what had brought her through the years and it was not going to fail her now.

Except, in moments like this, it did.

For when she wasn’t exposed to public eye, to the children she tried to prepare for life daily, there was nobody left she needed to uphold her facade in front of. Now less so than ever.

She thought of his beard, his skin that would be rotting all too soon in the ground. _Before his time,_ she could say. To most, that would be a lie. Albus Dumbledore was one of the oldest wizards of his era and only now, after more than 100 years, it had been ended.

Still, for her, it felt _too soon_. Too bloody soon.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shatter windows, be the hurricane others denounced her to be when she was in one of her angry moods. She wanted to make wood splinter and the sky crack, this time not with darkness but with rain. Something to wash away her sorrow.

Minerva faintly remembered the whisky resting in one of her cupboards, but for some reason, she didn’t particularly fancy getting drunk tonight. She felt too raw, and although she badly wanted to forget any of this had ever happened, she also wanted to _remember._

It wouldn’t do for her to wake up tomorrow morning, dark hair tousled and throat reeking of stale liquid, and realize alcohol hadn’t erased any of it after all. Suffering twice simply wouldn’t do. Enduring this once felt like enough and far more than she deserved or could survive.

(Tomorrow would be another day. She would be strong Minerva McGonagall, perhaps not as stoic as others knew her to usually be, but strong. She would slowly gain hope and iron armour, it would crumble at some point, but then she would work on rebuilding it all. It always worked like this. It had worked like this with Elphinstone as well. With her baby brother, her parents. All of the ones she’d lost and survived.)

She crumbled physically for a brief moment, bending her back, putting her palms on her knees, feeling weighed down like Atlas now that Albus wasn’t there to play the giant’s role anymore. She had, for most of her life, been his second-in-command. She had become _so_ used to it… but perhaps had never fully realized what being first-in-command would mean.

True, she had imagined Albus to resign, simply leave her to it as new headmistress some day, but in some way he would always have been her mentor, the one commanding and not the other way around.

Now, there was no _other way around_. There was simply the path ahead and her eyes for her to look forward.

Tonight, all she wanted to do was close them.

Weary steps, as if she was walking through quicksand, brought her to the sofa in her living room. Seeing as she felt a bit bleary-eyed, it took her a few moments to see the envelope lying on her coffee table.

Her hands, blue-veined and wrinkled, grasped it, emerald orbs immediately recognizing the handwriting behind the title.

Her name wasn’t mentioned anywhere, but Minerva knew it was addressed to her anyway. Whom else could Albus have written a letter, and in that tone? It sounded mysterious, but that didn’t matter so much as a dead man’s words being stuck in her quarters.

New tears glittering in her eyes, she suspected she’d best sit down for this, and after doing so, opened the envelope with her slender fingers. As soon as she read the first line, she was crying anew, one hand holding the letter in front of her begrieved eyes and the other on her mouth as she let out a sound between a gasp and a sob.

_My dear Minerva,_

It was a quite simple opening, really. But it would never speak so many volumes to anybody as her. The writer’s identity was enough.

_This letter is charmed to appear in your quarters once I die. In this very moment, I am speaking from my grave._

_My dear, I cannot put into words the agony I feel at talking to you truthfully not in person, but in a letter._

Through her tears, a frown reached her face. If he indeed had felt _sorry_ , why hadn’t he done anything against it? Then again, Albus had been her best friend. She had known him as well as she could have, given his inclination to privacy ( _manipulation,_ a cruel voice inside her whispered), and knew he had had his reasons for not telling her everything - although she very much wished he would have. He had assumed the role of Atlas without question, but hadn’t she always tried to tell him he didn’t have to be the man carrying the world?

 _Stupid man,_ she thought as another flood welled over her eyelids, _I would have gladly carried it with you._

_I am so very sorry, Minerva, for that which you’ll have to endure. It is not an easy situation I have left behind, but be assured I’ve always had faith in you and your abilities. You are a witch of remarkable strength and I wouldn’t have made you my deputy if I didn’t believe that._

_Shut it. Don’t._ She felt like locking her heart up and throwing the key away, wrapping an impossibly tight corset around her chest and get his words away from her as far as possible. Instead, warmth poured from her flesh, and it was only partly thanks to the burning grief she felt.

_Hence I also have always believed in your ability of command and leadership. Your mind has the sharpness of a cutlass, your tongue just as well, and I have no doubt Filius and the others will follow your word._

_Whose word else will they follow?_ she thought, excruciated.

_You have to keep believing in yourself now that I’m gone._

G.

O.

N.

E.

Four letters she never wanted to see next to each other again, not in this context.

_I remember a small, raven-haired girl in the robes of a lioness, fierce and entirely too stubborn for her own good. You were capable of such astounding things even at such a young age, may it have been being the first to accomplish transfiguring your needle or demonstrating the presence of a good heart. You thought you needed me to instruct you, but in truth, you were the one to pull that strength from your own inner core, my dear._

_It is uncannily similar now. You are a woman of confidence, but don’t let that small spark of insecurity that’s inside everybody bring you down. Our side needs you more than ever and you have to be strong and present. For Harry, and for Lily and James._

_I trust you can do it. You’ll quickly see you don’t need me after all. You never have, my dear._

Her mind had been silent for some time as it had been pulled in-between the lines and strokes of Albus’ ink. Now, however it was screaming, screaming at a person that wasn’t there anymore. _I do need you,_ Minerva thought, over and over, _I need you, I need you, no, you can’t tell me I don’t, you don’t know me…_ Her thoughts were lying, or perhaps it was only the ghost of Albus that was, maybe simply both of them. Lies, lies, lies everywhere, now before her, earlier present in the form of a man clad in dark robes. Severus had lied to her as well. To all of them.

Despite their animosity, she had considered him a _friend_.

Now he wasn’t anymore, never had been, never would be. Severus Snape’s soul was as dead to her as Albus Dumbledore’s body.

_Despite my efforts, I cannot help but allow myself a mite of selfishness now. It is incredibly selfish of me, to say those words now which will burden you even more in the coming time, a burden increased by the fact you still have a life to live, my dear, and I am but a shallow body in the earth._

_I could never have borne to tell you while Elphinstone was looking at you the same way I was. My blue eyes have been shining for you for quite a while now - pardon me for sounding like a young boy -_

If she hadn’t been as stunned as she was, perhaps Minerva would have snorted at this choice of words. Albus had always had a dichotomy in him: Wise to the moon and beyond, yet managing to behave like a wee child. Perhaps that was how he had survived.

_but neither was it the right time nor was I sure of your emotions. I admit to you, my dear, it frustrates me, not to know what you’re feeling even though I know what’s going on in your mind most of the time. (Please do not fret, I wouldn’t dare to use Legilimency where you are concerned.)_

If she hadn’t been as shell-shocked as she was, perhaps Minerva would have rolled her eyes. Albus had been many things, but straightforward had never been one of them. It showed in the way he didn’t cut to the chase, as she would have done.

_Alas, here I am, a humble coward, confessing my love to you on paper without giving you a chance to properly respond. Talking to a mere painting, after all, will do us both injustice, but it is what it is. I hope, for that, you can find the strength to forgive me._

_I put it now in your hands to keep the Order alive, as well as ensure Harry receives as much help as he can receive. He will require it._

_And when you are done and require your rest, I shall be there._

_With utmost faith and love,_

_Albus_

Her lungs failed her for several drawn-out moments, resembling hours, but ultimately feeling like a void. A void she was being sucked into, while clutching this small piece of parchment tightly to her chest. Her teeth were two forces pressing against each other, ready to shatter from the pressure. Her grimace was a terrible one, fraught with horrors, demons and, in the eye of the storm, _longing_.

Longing for something that could have been. Longing for something that could never be.

A weak gasp escaped Minerva’s lips. There they had been, two proud and true Gryffindors, failing to confess the true nature of their feelings to each other. A strain was building in her chest, like a boulder slowly weighing down onto it, and she let out several other choked breaths. _Out, out, out…_ until there was no air left just like there was no light in her heart.

Tomorrow-

_TO HELL WITH TOMORROW!_

Her arm lashed out, catching on the lamp on the side table and making it fall to the ground. The sound of the crash only dimly registered in her mind. The next thing that left her mouth was not a gasp, but something more violent, animalistic. Minerva pressed her eyelids together, feeling the tears move faster like a small waterfall. Her hand was tense as she laid the letter aside so it wouldn’t be crushed into a paper ball in her forming fists. She brought them to her face, pressing her knuckles against her skin.

“Minerva, are you-”

Poppy’s voice immediately stopped short at what she assumed was seeing her in this state. She didn’t particularly care or tense up as she was wont to do in such situations. Right now, she just _didn’t care_.

Or perhaps she cared too much.

Minerva heard the sound of a door closing and then footsteps coming right toward her. She didn’t lift her head once, continuing to lean her closed eyes on her fists. Who knew, just a few simple movements to scratch them out, then she wouldn’t have to read this blasted thing again-

“Min…”

Poppy’s voice was unbelievably soft this time and this very quality seemed so rare to her in this moment. Between all the death and haunting words. It was a small relief, but a relief nonetheless, and Minerva couldn’t abstain from drawing the other witch into her arms as soon as she had sat down next to her.

“Don’t,” she whispered, “but thank you. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

A sharp puff escaped Poppy’s mouth, warmly stroking Minerva’s ear. Apparently the other witch knew just how senseless her words were.

“Min, none of us are _fine_ and none of us expect _you_ to be.” She could sense Poppy’s need to look her in the eyes to underline her words, but the embrace remained firmly in place. Neither wanted to let go. A hand stroked her greying hair from behind, but the memory of Albus doing the very same destroyed its intended effect. Minerva let out a deep, struggling breath, sound marred by her grief and the tears that were freely flowing down her face and onto her friend’s shoulder.

Poppy cooed, making sounds like _shh_ and saying it would be alright, but how could it be _alright_? How could she imagine herself to be _alright_ again? She couldn’t. Fuck what tomorrow brought. This was the here and now and she was suffering and she didn’t know how she could bear to handle it all.

“It’s- Is everything alright?” Minerva asked shakily, “Was there any disruption with the students or professors? You must have had a reason to come up here.”

“Everything is settled. Well, as settled as can be. Actually, Pomona sent me up here, though I would have checked up on you myself without prompting. That woman can be bossy when she’s worried,” Poppy said, and it _would_ have been funny - under any other circumstances. Yet no smile reached Minerva’s face, only a hollowness she didn’t know how to convey. So her expression stayed empty. “She’s currently caring for her Hufflepuffs, though she said she’d come up here as well. We’re all worried, Min.”

For a while, she didn’t quite know what to say. Of course they’d be worried, that was a rational course of action. Everybody had known Albus and she had been best friends and confidantes, one must have been blind not to. Additionally, she had been bestowed with a more difficult task now. _Headmistress of Hogwarts._

 _Tomorrow,_ she promised herself as she wearily closed her eyes, leaning her head against the crook of Poppy’s neck, _tomorrow I’ll be strong._

“What’s that letter?”

As soon as Minerva had shut her eyes, they were open again. Her body tensed up immediately, like that of an alarmed cat, with goosebumps running up her arms.

No, now was not the time. _Definitely_ not the time for that.

She leaned out of their embrace, trying to shield the parchment with her body. “A letter from Albus.” She had to keep her teeth from gritting as Poppy’s concerned gaze practically penetrated her head. “He wrote it to me, before his death.” The last word almost sent her into a crying fit again, yet her back remained upright. “Instructions, mostly.”

Her friend scoffed at that, and she was right to, but Minerva couldn’t bear to talk about the other part yet. Hence she expertly whipped out her wand and let both letter and envelope vanish with a quick wordless _swish_ , transporting the incriminating evidence into her bedroom. She tried to ignore the infiltrating stare Poppy was giving her.

“Private instructions, then,” her friend spoke, and Minerva almost sneered, since _yes, you could call it that._ Poppy’s eyes wandered to the broken lamp on the floor, something she herself had almost forgotten about, and put it back into place with a quick, soft _Reparo_. Minerva was on the receiving end of yet another penetrative gaze, which made her want to be alone and work all of her frustrations away in - relative - peace. She usually was an extroverted woman, but if that’s how she would be looked at for the remainder of the evening… solitude was preferable. “Let me know if you need help mending more than a lamp.”

The words hit her unprepared. Could Poppy be onto something? With the matron being, well, _herself_ , it wasn’t unlikely. Maybe, and only maybe, Minerva could try to coax something out of her. _But not tonight._ That would mean throwing salt into all too fresh wounds.

“I will try,” she answered honestly, reply warped in a sigh, because the least Minerva McGonagall could do was _try_ where _everything_ was concerned - except for the subject of Divination, perhaps. She wasn’t the kind of witch to do anything less, or make empty promises. For she didn’t know if her attempts to _open up_ would ever be destined for success.

“That’s all I ask. That’s all any of us ask, Min.”

A hand on her shoulder. Soon replaced by another, Pomona’s, who had come up after having finished the daily Head of House business. Minerva was glad to be informed by Filius that he had seen to her cubs, as she had asked of him. Even Horace deigned to pay her a visit, perhaps more out of fear what would become of his position than the school or the students. Nevertheless, he brought fine drinks, and Minerva couldn’t say she didn’t appreciate the faint burning of whisky in the back of her throat. It helped distract her, if only temporarily.

Once everything was said and done, the professors and matron had left, she went to bed with burning esophagus and eyes. One hand was tucked beneath her pillow, fingering the letter lying there. The title was ingrained into her mind as she tried to find sleep in the dark of the night.

 _To Her_.


End file.
